Within those Eyes, Light
by ShinigamiLullaby
Summary: The notorious red reaper is left alone to his foreboding thoughts and sins. While yearning for purpose and atonement, a certain marred mortician offers comfort, laughter, and maybe a little more beyond that.
1. Veracious Thoughts

_Hello everyone~!_  
_This is my first fanfic on this site. Woo! It's told from first person POV, because I find that I enjoy the challenge of really getting into the nooks and crannies of a characters mind to tell a story._

_So, as for now, this is pretty Grell centric, but this will be a Grell/Undertaker fic, and there will be a lemon, so stay tuned for that! All characters belong to Yana Toboso. Story is mine._

xXx

I sighed, treading the streets of London slowly. It was dusk, and I found myself clicking down the uneven cobblestone in my crimson and ebony oxford heels, hands dug in my jacket, sighing to myself. I had peeled off my gloves, now just crumpled satin balls in the bottom of each pocket. Between those and the lining of my coat, my hands had become clammy and uncomfortable, although my nerves weren't helping in the slightest.

William was furious with me, as per usual. I had let my paperwork back up once again, and the back up had caused him almost twice his normal overtime hours. To make matters worse, I had spilled coffee all over his expensive new suit, which not only ruined the material but had burned him pretty badly, and thus made him late for a department meeting where he was supposed to give an important speech, apparently. This had left him livid, naturally, and for the past week since the incident I'd almost been, kind of… behaving myself around the office, aware that any minor slip up at this point may actually lead to the reconstruction of my beautiful face.

I spent such time on it, you know? Normally I wouldn't care, but it takes a lady long hours to properly prepare herself each day, let alone stay graceful during strenuous work shifts, and no one around the office ever seemed to pay it any mind. If they ever did grant me an ounce of heed, it was usually to provoke me for amusement. Ronald Knox appreciates me though, and that darling baby reaper does know how to lay on a compliment or two to cheer up my dulled spirit.

To be honest, I had promised to start behaving after the Jack the Ripper incident all those months ago, but I suppose I just… am a lady who lives by her own rules and structure? It's not that I try to cause trouble for William- okay, maybe that's a bit of a lie. I do. It just seems that when I do make any sort of feeble attempt to please him, he does not find my efforts of self-improvement as anything more than bothersome and boarding on destructive both personally and collectively.

Never the less, today I had crossed the line while trying to cheer him up by brightening his office with some of my own personal collection of red drapes, scented candles, and modern music (I thought this was very generous…). I tried in earnest to get him to dance with me to loosen up (and maaaybe to help convince him to reissue my personalized death scythe), but I only succeeded in giving him a brain splitting migraine with my music, ('insufferable noise' as he called it,) knock over the three impressively large stacks of already late files from his desk onto the floor, and break an ink well that somehow managed to cover about half of them in black puddles, not to mention stain the new beige carpeting.

After that, William had promptly thrown me out of his office, out of the library and out of the realm til- well, when exactly, I wasn't quite sure. I don't know why he thought setting me loose amongst humans would be such a grand idea considering, although I guess he figured with my demoted status and two pairs of scissors, I wasn't quite so intimidating. At this point, he may have preferred me to be causing trouble away in the mortal realm than in his view.

Out of sight, out of mind, I suppose.

That miserable, slave driving-ah. Who was I trying to fool? William had made his disdain for my most recent blunders quite clear this time around, and even though coffee burns and broken ink wells were not nearly as severe as some of my past incidents ('Jack the Ripper' being the one that stands out quite boldly in my memory,) I knew that if I didn't clean my act up he was likely to deport me to Russia, or worse, the States. I shuddered at the thought of being sent into such undeveloped territory.

As I walked, I pondered. I mean, considerably, time is all a reaper truly has when it comes down to it, you see? People are born, live, reproduce, die and are reaped. Seasons come and go, fashions fade; morals loosen, tighten, and loosen again. All things change, and although the problems seem to be rather consistent… all us reapers end up with is the lonely, omnipresent phantom of time. I couldn't quite seem to come to terms with myself. What could be a soul's purpose after death?

You'd think that would be something they teach shinigami at the academy. Alas, I was never a very efficient student, so if it was elaborated on, it has become lost to me. But I doubt the worth of a soul is something that one can be so easily learned, let alone taught. I hadn't thought about it much til now, but the reality of it made me shiver slightly. Or maybe that was just the chill of the wind, for it was almost December.

Although us reapers share many of the qualities of human beings, those of my kind are not so easily affected by merely the weather. Regardless, I tried pushing the icy grip of growing uncertainty from my mind as I pulled my beloved red jacket tighter around me. Damn the late madam for having such tiny shoulders- it was quite a bother to have to try and wear the thing properly myself. They seemed too delicate for a woman who had once been of such power. Huffing and tossing a few scarlet locks over my shoulder, I continued towards my unknown destination.

I hadn't told my legs to keep moving, yet I found the scenery around me ever-changing as I wondered through town and towards a local graveyard, alone with the solitude of my own foreboding thoughts. Such as this was not my normal state of mind. I reflected only on the thought that if I were simply a gatherer of souls, what would there be for me after a second departure? Would there even be a 'second departure' for a god of death? Surely there had to be. I mean… I forced myself to consider Alan Humphries and Eric Slingsby, the two most recently departed colleagues of mine. The ordeal surrounding their deaths was quite hushed, and only those directly involved with that particular case (being William, Ronald and myself,) were aware of what exactly had actually happened between the pair involving the missing souls and their untimely downfall. Shinigami deaths themselves were quite a rare thing; but two at the same time from the same division was nearly unheard of.

Worse yet, Alan and Eric had been two of the top reapers in the department. Losing them was nothing to be proud of. Such a bizarre event had thrown the London division reapers on everyone's list of current peaked interest, and all the extra attention to our understaffed section had sent Willy dear right into a tizzy. This involved most of the new academy graduate employees being on their toes at every turn, Ronald falling down the stairs due to the mishandling of his own lawnmower, and myself being threatened to have all of my gorgeous hair chopped off almost hourly by none other than Mister William T. Spears himself, wielding his scythe that could crack skulls at unknown lengths with practically little to no effort from it's wielder. A man with such toned precision and power could make me shiver; but for once, I did not find the feeling so enticing, but rather nauseating.

Before now I would have been curious to know how far that rod of his could reach and the strength it truly did possess, but as of the current circumstances; not so much. I heard the newest recruits debating whether the ever-mysterious 'T' stood for 'Treacherous' or 'Tyrant'.

To be fair, William is not so dreadful by nature. In fact, he's my best and closest friend aside from Ronnie, though it is debatable if the feeling is mutual. He has saved me on quite a few occasions throughout the centuries, though he always argues it is simply because we cannot find efficient task forces to replace me. We were testing partners back at the academy, and I suppose it is against his morals to turn his back on me now, even after my countless wrongdoings.

Either way, it is quite clear that the pair of us have always had different views in work ethic, but I am very aware that he is both insanely overworked and almost ridiculously underpaid. And I know it may be wretched of me to take advantage, but flustering William was hands down one of my favorite pastimes.

There was something so alluring about having the power to frustrate him to the point of senseless anger. It was both endearing and dangerous, and if I were to tell you the gods honest truth, seeing him lashing out in barely restrained ferocity was downright sexy. There is more to his personality than strict looks, paperwork, pressed suits, and deadlines, as unbelievable as it may sound. As well, he hasn't been laid in gods only know how many centuries, so I suppose that as well would just be the icing on anyone's metaphorical shit cake. -Oh, do pardon me, that wasn't very lady like.

Consequently, in my mind, t'was like a great tragedy; something from a Shakespearean tale. My ballad was that of a fine lady of the ages, thrown into the boughs of misery. Yes, a lady who could never die, endlessly rejected by love, and held in contempt by her chilling superior throughout the history of time! Headstrong, but with nowhere to run, nowhere to turn to in an hour of desperation, and… ah! This could be the fifth great tragedy! Be as it may, I had reaped the fellow by my own hands… what one must give in the name of art is a price great indeed, and I believe myself to be in all things, and above all things, an artist.

So was there really no glimmer of light in such a vicious cycle? It seemed as so. In that moment, I felt that even a kiss with the tongue from my beloved, ruby eyed Sebas-chan would not have been able to lift the veil that was crushing my shoulders with what seemed to be the invisible weight of humanity.

And on top of all of these bleak, biting thoughts, I felt isolated.

Utterly, desperately lonely.

Fuck.

xXx


	2. Questionable Lamentation

_Okay! Soooo… chapter two. XD Thank you to Maverrat and PetiteFee24 for reviewing, and thank you to anyone who has favourited this story. I truly appreciate it._

_This has become a bit more dark than I originally intended. ^-^; More Grell centric… and que Undertaker!_

xXx

I continued on silently, longing so fervently to be out of myself and to have my charismatic spirit blazing scarlet as it had what seemed to be ages past now, but was in actuality only a handful of months ago. Although my actions in pairing up with a human counterpart to reap the souls of those filthy prostitutes not yet ready by the book's call to meet their maker may have seemed brash and reckless, they had passion. In those moments of sinister rebellion to the sole purpose of my existence, I felt I had a real value of what one may call 'living'.

Oh, Angelina Durless, otherwise known as Madam Red. It was in moments like these (though I would never admit it out loud,) that I missed her company rather dearly. If nothing else, she had been quite entertaining. I had claimed she was the first and only woman to ever steal my heart, and this was not a lie. I did love her, but I was not _in_ love with her, if you can understand that. She had such spark, such vitality; and in my eyes she was lovelier than any woman I had ever known.

In a way, I almost wished I could have been her, before the accident of course… but she and I were merely kindred spirits. Angelina had been scorned by life's uncertainties, and ripped of the privileges and joys that should have rightfully been hers. I want to be a woman, and as much I feel that I am a lady, I am not foolish enough to ever believe that one day I will awaken and all my acting would pay off in that I have somehow physically become a woman. But she… she had been born a woman, had her true love stolen from her, and then while with child by another man who had grown to love her, her husband and beautiful baby were ripped away from her.

I normally did not feel pity towards human beings, and mine for her was fleeting. As much as it was selfishness to fulfill my own desires in doing what she had taken upon herself in teaching those wretched whores a lesson, I was impressed by her boldness, and almost a little heartbroken by the loss that drove her there. She had been the first human in centuries that I had been interested in, in any fashion, and I allowed her to fuel the fire that was my ambition.

Being with Madam Red and taking on the persona that was 'Jack the Ripper' reminded me of what it felt like to be fulfilled in one's actions. After reaping thousands of souls, the cinematic displays became dull, the words and actions played out like a broken record. I could almost always guess what was going to happen next, and it grew so unbearably disheartening.

Suddenly, the faces were all the same, the voices were all the same; the lives were all the same!

But when I reaped one of the first souls slaughtered by the madam alone, by heavens, how impeccably intrigued I was. The madam's flawless acting skills, coupled with her love of all things red and her hardness to the world brought about such an interesting spice to my tedious every-day soul collections. It was like I was destined to join her in that skillful game, even if just for a small time.

As I've learned throughout the years time and time again, all good things must come to an end. And as much as I am one to continuously do things the hard way, I still feel our time together had come and gone too quickly.

It truly is a shame she had yielded… t'was a graven mistake I could not let pass by without punishment. There was such a weakness in her eyes, such a helplessness. In that moment, she faded into the rest of the world and all it's branding imperfections. I could not let her become part of that world of commoners! She was no longer suited to wear our glorious red, and I would not let such an injustice slip through my fingers. I could not let her stoop to that level, and in all honesty, I think she would have believed it was for the best as well.

Though, every once in a while, I do think of her and muse about if she had gone through with slaying her 'darling nephew', (otherwise referred to as the Phantombrat,) for then who knows how many more streetwalking broads the pair of us would have slain.

Oh, how exhilarating that would have been!

The climax of a satisfying hunt, there may have been no better feeling! It was self indulgent, and instantly gratifying when their faces stretched into horror, realizing they were at your mercy, and there was no chance of escape. Tis' a shinigami's job to inflict a sense of justice on mankind! Oh, the rapture it gave, bathing those externally beautiful, yet internally grotesque mortals in their own garnet drippings-!

Where that feeling had slipped to, I was unaware. Since her death, coupled with the death of my companions, I was feeling more unfulfilled than ever.

Now, I felt lifeless, drained; and I wasn't the only one feeling the blow. Even Ronald, who had always been nothing but bright eyed and bushy-tailed was of little use in the 'cheering up' department.

Ever since the passing of Alan and Eric, Knoxie's step didn't seem to have quite as much spring, his smile not quite as sparkling. It made a place deep within me ache as I realized that Ronnie's intimate relationship with the pair had left a bittersweet strain in my dear friend's heart; one that he could not publicly show. His involvement with the two of them was that of closed doors. Ronald was in every sense of the term a 'ladies man' with his dazzling personality that matched an equally good looking body- although it was not beyond Ronnie to take a fancy to men either. He had respected that Alan and Eric were kind of an item, so the trio had figured Ronald's after hours involvement with them was not anyone's business but their own. None of them were ashamed of what they shared, but they were not inclined to being questioned or ridiculed either.

Alan was strong willed, but we were all in our own sense aware of his compromised condition to some degree and knew that long term attachment was in poor favor, although it seemed to be something we could not help. It had been an almost unspoken vow between Eric and Ronald; they would let nothing compromise Alan's happiness in what time he had. Even so, no amount of mental or emotional preparation can blanch away the pain and hollowness of a grieving lover. Even as a young reaper, Knoxie has always been intuitive about people, but even that could not help him, for the truth of Eric's sins against the ministry and mankind in Alan's name were staggering. Knox lost Alan, and had not even been left with Eric to lean on. Rather, he felt almost betrayed, and so he faltered. He held no real hard feelings, but his sorrow was absolutely evident.

And as bold and resilient as I am, I could not blame him.

So, most recently, I had been the one trying to cheer him up by challenging him to minor bets and competitions, (-He was always one to become insanely competitive to the point of cocky, hotheaded zealousness. And I had to admit, this made him even more attractive in a boyish-charm kind of way.) alongside mild office antics of my own, (mild seen as I was still trying to behave, somewhat) instead of our usual tag team in the office.

Some days, I believed he liked seeing William riled even more so than myself, but he defiantly had more or a sorrowful attitude afterwards, simply wanting to catch his superior's attention to impress and prove to William how crafted he could be as a reaper. Now it seemed as if nothing mattered to him, he was simply going through the motions. Watching Ronald suffer with this burden in silence was heartbreaking, and was verging on pitiful.

I hoped he would pull from this slump soon, because I certainly could not pull from my own. As much as I wanted to help out my adorable companion, I could barely help myself.

Glancing up idly, my gaze caught a silhouette of something tall and wispy just a few yards away from me, posed almost gracefully upon a gravestone, a fresh bouquet of red roses spilling over boney fingers. Those roses were like splashes of angry blood against their keeper, bathed in shades of onyx and grey. It did not move, nor break the silence, and sterling locks seemed to pour over its shoulders like molten silver, glowing softly with the pale light of the moon. It was turned away from me in an almost three quarter view, and staring ahead, lost in thought.

In an instant I knew the drab clad figure; it was none other than the infamous Undertaker.

It was odd to see him in this fashion. Well, not so much the part about him being in the graveyard, considering his choice occupation, but rather, the silence and solemn look that he was wearing. There was no grin splayed upon his lips, rather, he just gazed out blankly before casting his eyes down at the blazing petals, seeming to be lost in lamentation of his own.

An unsmiling Undertaker?

Was even the legendary death god suffering and reacting seriously to the negativity that seemed to be grating down on even the best of us? I was glad for the distraction of my thoughts by his unexpected presence, though the scene before me was proving to be not much better. I shuddered outwardly; I couldn't imagine what could possibly be bad enough to have the Undertaker almost frowning.

And honestly, I didn't want to stick around to find out.

xXx

_I tried to incorperate the personalities of the characters to the best of my abilities... I mean, has anyone read the most recent chapter of Kuro? Ronald is a cocky little thing! XD Kids these days. *shakes head*_

_As for Grell... well, things will get better. But in the meantimeee~_  
_I LEAVE YOU WITH THIS CLIFFHANGER._  
_Mehehee. R&R lovelies~_


	3. Tempting Discovery

_Hi guys! _

_I just wanted to say that I've enabled the anonymous review setting! The default is for it to be off, of which I was unaware. Just wanted to let you all know XD;_

_Enjoy the chapter~!_

**xXx **

Luckily, this was short lived, as he suddenly burst into inexplicable raucous laughter. I couldn't help but let out a breath of relief I hadn't even realized I had been holding as his face cracked into a wide grin, squeezing the flowers in his grasp and doubling over almost. He really was a creepy guy, laughing to himself in public like that and carrying on thoughtlessly. But, at least I could give him credit where credit was due; he was consistent.

If there was one thing that seemed unchanged with time and almost kindred to it, it was Undertaker. His years must have been in the thousands by now, and probably one of the last of his age still around. Had this shinigami been able to cheat death itself?

Suddenly, a jovial voice crooned from behind me and directly into my ear, causing me to jump and let out an unattractive yelp of surprise.

"M'lady?" the mortician giggled with mirth, observing my reaction. When the hell had he gotten behind me? He had been on the gravestone in front of me mere moments ago.

Oh, I had done it again, hadn't I? I had gotten myself lost in thought, become distracted and inevitably lost focus with my surroundings. This needed to stop. I opened my mouth to respond when then the mad man reached forward and pressed a long black nail to the bottom of my chin to close my jaw, instantly silencing me, which was not usually such a simple task.

"You were watching me, yes?"

Normally, I would not have been so quick to forgive anyone making a fool of me in such a way, but Undertaker had never truly done anything to merit much beyond a pout from myself. He always addressed me as a proper woman, never raised a hand to me in contempt. And although he had once compared me to a corpse, he had still called me lively. He had easily forgiven my ignorance of his identity as well as being unaffected by my brash nature when I had strangled him in his own shop. In fact, he seemed to rather encourage my rambunctious behavior as well as my presence generally. And that was a compliment.

That meant something, right?

Right!

Well, be as it may, at that moment, it meant everything. A small smile slowly played on my lips as I calmed and gave a small nod, the first smile of that night, although it felt like much longer since my expression had lightened as much. Undertaker was still completely himself. Oh, if only he knew how relieved I was to still see him of all things as a shred of normalcy. His presence alone was somehow able to reach out and soothe each apprehensive ounce of my being with just a facetious laugh and a few bold touches.

Ahh, he was touching me, wasn't he? A deft hand had snaked around my waist after releasing my chin, those slender digits making their way to my chest, rubbing over where my heart lay. His other hand was still occupied by the undefined presence of flowers, their petals brushing my cheek as he perched his left wrist on my shoulder, fancying to rest his head on the opposite. I tried to look away as my breath hitched in my throat, but I knew it was useless; he had caught me in the molten stare that burned holes right through me, melting me mercilessly with even more merciless intentions. He was most likely bored and searching for entertainment. I had yet to answer his question, and I could see that he was curious about my silence.

"If you must know, Taker-" I began, pulling from his grasp and turning to face him promptly. I had to act through this. I would not be caught weakened to him.

He simply continued grinning like a fool, rocking on his heels, as would an anxious puppy, eager to hear my reasoning. "I…" the reply died on my lips.

Why had I been eyeing him so intently? And why did he always let me see those blasted eyes of his now? I could easily find them peeking out from his ashen bangs when I happened to be alone with him. I found myself visiting his shop more and more often these days. Just stopping by to say hello, or to watch the marred mortician fix up a body I had so deliciously mangled. He would comment on my work, offering me brackish tea in beakers that had once contained only Hades knows what.

Sometimes he would speak in riddles, or hum macabre lullabies. Most often we would laugh, and sometimes it didn't have to be about anything at all. He would simply look to me, or I to him, and when our gazes would meet, it were as if for a moment the entire universe had made sense to just the two of us, and it was always so strikingly funny we would laugh until our sides ached. Not only did the Undertaker like to laugh… I believe he simply enjoyed the sound of laughter. He cared not for the world, its inhabitants, and searched only to amuse and be amused. As one of the 'evil noblemen', that made him a rather cynical fellow, and that in itself struck me as rather laughable.

I could feel him watching me now; shamelessly so at that. I mean… it was not that I disliked his eyes. Ever since that incident in the library where I had the pleasure of viewing his face in full the very first time, I was utterly drawn to them. His jaw was sharp and slender, leading to almost strikingly soft cheekbones in comparison. The scar that tilted across his face diagonally from the right corner of his jaw ended above the left eye on the opposite side. Thin eyebrows and naturally long, silver lashes framed those hidden optics. In fact, it was his entire face that looked as if it where shaped specifically to frame those lovely orbs, pools of gold flecked with emerald, like precious shattered gems.

No wonder he hid them! He could have every lord, lady and shinigami alike lined up around the block to have a view of those eyes. Then again, Undertaker didn't need to draw any more unnecessary attention to himself than he already did with his particularly askew method of payment and his rather indiscreet activity with the Queens underground society. I was surprised there wasn't more of a fuss about his odd, conspicuous nature; then again, maybe no one was foolish enough to dare test his mental instability.

"Grell" he chided playfully, offering the roses. "You seem quite torn. Here, take these."

I took the flowers as he held them out to me, unable to deny him, really. How long had I been standing there, just gazing at him with some pitiful look on my face? A proper lady like myself could not afford to be caught publicly decomposed. Damn it all, this was getting old, and fast. Quickly I attempted to divert his attention.

"In actuality, I think it was you that had been having a gander at the lovely lady before you." I forced out a smirk, cocking a hip towards him.

"I would not deny that. I have been watching you since you entered the graveyard. I looked away for but a few moments, laughing only when I realized that you were quite unaware of my presence till now. I never knew you made such funny faces when you are in thought!"

Again I stood dumbfounded.

Although a little insulting towards the end of it, that… was certainly not the response I was expecting. Undertaker had been gazing at me? He said I had been making odd expressions, but none the less, he had been watching me. I knew I was quiet the rare specimen but… if anyone did ever set their eyes upon me, it was usually in scold, confusion, and most often to outright reject me.

Luckily, I pulled myself from what was bound to become another mental tangent as the feeling of the rose's thorns digging into my hands caused me to cry out again lightly for a second time that night. It was then that I was reminded of having removed my gloves, and now my fingers were freezing as well as bleeding. I had been careless when I had taken the bouquet, not thinking to avoiding holding the stems where thorns had lay, and as my thoughts had darkened, my grip on the flowers had tightened.

"So thoughtless, m'lady. Even more so than usual." Undertaker chuckled; taking one of my chilled hands and kissing the small puncture wounds. A warm, wet tongue slipped out to taste the few drops of blood that had welled to the surface. His voice reminded me of mulled wine; warm, smooth, and yet, with a spice to it. I wanted to drink him in like that, feel his heat in my veins. It delighted me to know that he was there, alone with me. Maybe, I was more enticed than I should have been, considering the attention he was paying me was questionably momentary, and most likely for his own amusement. Oh, the things this man would do for the finest of laughs…

"My dear, you're as cold as death. Why, even your blood tastes forlorn." he breathed against my injured flesh, tilting his face up at me, a cheeky grin still gracing his features as I shivered. I could feel myself heating up rapidly underneath those devilishly provocative hands of his. "Whatever is the matter? I dislike seeing you so down, it's fretfully unsuited for a lady so vivacious by nature."

I couldn't tell if he was genuinely concerned or simply toying with me, and I withdrew myself from this eerily charming creature, cradling my hand slightly for a moment before letting it fall to my side. Again, my sight was draw to the crafted arrangement of flowers in my other, uninjured hand. Upon further inspection, I found that amongst the roses were laced forget-me-nots, and sprigs of baby's breath, like flecks of snow against the larger vermilion blossoms.

"Baby's breath-" the ancient shinigami began, following my gaze. "-for innocence."

I couldn't help but crack another smile at that. Innocence was a subject I had to say was most often feigned by myself rather than attained in any fashion. I had lost whatever true innocence I had once possessed long ago. Undertaker was smiling as well; then again, he was almost always, wasn't he? I supposed he knew what I was thinking, and realized that it was easier to coax me than to try and press me into telling him what I was thinking. For once, I did not mind that this retired god of death could almost read me like a book.

"Forget-me-nots, for memories, remembrance, and hope." he cooed, his golden eyes still holding mine prisoner in their deep and smoldering gaze. Each change in his facial expression only caused them to reflect the shards of fading light more brightly. He drew me close again, stroking the silken petals with one tender hand, the other cupping my face gently.

This all seemed very ironic. It was if we were speaking of my uncertainties without actually addressing them.

"And roses?" I added hopefully as he paused.

"Ah yes. Roses, of course. Red roses, for passion, courage, and strength."

At that moment, I wanted to tell him that roses also stood for love, but I'm sure he already knew. It was a mortician's duty to know the meanings of flowers at least to some extent. As well, knowing that red roses were given as a token of admiration was pretty common knowledge. Even the hapless inhabitants of London were bound to know that. I suppose he was avoiding an outburst from me. As most people who encountered me knew, talk of love almost always turned to the mention of William and Sebastian.

Undertaker found Sebastian simply amusing, but none the less a demon with whom not to be lightly tampered. I never asked directly, but I had a feeling Undertaker and Sebastian had met before the Phantombrat had gone to him for information about good ol' Jack. It was possible for their paths to have crossed in different era's, having encountered each other throughout time at random, each well aware of the others power but mostly just amused with running into the other throughout history without ever truly being on good terms. Shinigami's and demons weren't exactly the best of friends in any set of extraneous circumstances, ever. We reap souls, they eat them. A bit of a conflict, regardless of how amusing one may have found the other. What I wouldn't give to see Undertaker snatch the little brat of an earl Sebastian was tenderizing from right under his nose! Talk about a good laugh!

I also had a feeling that Undertaker had known it was Madam Red and I killing those ladies of the night all along, but he never did sell me out. He gazed at us knowingly from behind his curtain of bangs when we entered his shop alongside the runt and his hellhound, and left it to those two mutts to sniff out our trail. It must have put him in a fit of giddiness to watch the young, pampered earl flounder about in frustration and humiliation when they thought they had found the culprit in the Lord Aleister Chamber, otherwise known as the Viscount Druitt, and had been proven wrong.

To watch that perfectionist butler blunder and displease his sniveling, ill-tempered master must have been such a sweet little prize. Shinigami and personal conflict put aside, Undertaker only took the best payment for his unique brand of service, and it seems that dear little Sebast's joke only served for but an inkling of the true insight that Undertaker possessed.

Personally, I just liked to think that Undertaker liked me better, even if I was technically the one in the wrong according to shinigami code and law. (Like I'd ever even read the handbook. Pshhh.)

In any case, Undertaker truly disliked William, and expressed that his crass towards me was annoying. He found him noisy and uncouth despite his pristine record. Apparently rule thumping, tight lacers like William were one of the reasons he opted for retirement. A shame really, considering how highly William revered Undertaker and praised him to all the younger shinigami, unbeknown to himself that his attitude made Undertaker find him almost intolerable. On days like these, I couldn't help but agree, even if I deserved most of the treatment I received. I mean, I had been the doormat of the Shinigami Dispatcher Society London Division since my time in the academy. In fact, I know I could overpower most of the people who smacked me around, but I suppose I just didn't care enough. It also goes without say that I liked a little rough handling from lean, sturdy men.

Speaking of which, Undertaker had captured me in his grasp again from behind. He was holding me ever so close, almost dearly. I was not such a fragile thing, and he knew this; yet his grasp was tender. It was firm, but if I had wanted to break away, I could have. It was then I realized that maybe, just maybe, Undertaker was jealous of the attention I paid to my rigid boss and the black clad butler.

_Oh my. _

What a discovery _indeed_.

**xXx**

_Hehehe, this one's a little longer than the last two, but that's a good thing, eh? College has started for me again, so I don't know how quickly these chapters will get written/updated, but I will do my best guys! I have no intention of abandoning you!_

_Also, it was revealed in an interview with Yana that the second most powerful character in the series is Grell, only topped by Sebastian himself. The real reason Grell is kept around by William and the society in general is because he's so damn powerful, but because William is Grell's 'one true love', he lets William smack him around because he doesn't care enough to fight back and… well, Grell is way more obsessed with the thought of love. But, regardless of who Grell's 'true love is', Grell and Undertaker will always be my Kuroshitsuji OTP. Huzzah the power of fanfiction! XD_


	4. Grave Misunderstandings

_Oh cripes. I'm soooooo sorry this took so long x_X _

_I shouldn't make excuses, but a lot has been going on! College... college...oh and did I mention college ._. Yeah. As well, my darling Undertaker (XiggyBean here of FF) was very ill for almost a week, and she is the one whom I originally started writing this story for. Literally a day after she got better, my dear friend whom some of you may know, Maverrat, went ill! Luckily, the both of them are both better for the most part, and today (err... yesterday now xD; ) was my Undertaker's 20th birthday. So... I had to get this chapter out for her tonight!  
On with the show~!_

xXx_  
_

I had to test the waters now, I had to know.

"Ah, don't forget my dear, roses stand for love."

"Well yes, of course." The mortician replied calmly, his grasp on me unwavering, and in fact, growing a little more possessive.

"Then why didn't you simply say so, Undertaker?"

"With all due respect, m'lady, I don't think it's necessary for me to verbally express my every pondering." he put a hand to his own cheek thoughtfully. "I would have no business as an informant if I were to have such a habit."

"Ahh, I don't mean to be forward…" I lied through my teeth. "Although your mind may be a dangerous garden to make passage through, I'm not one to let my curiosity lie in wait."

He nuzzled my cheek at his, and I could feel his smile against my flesh. I found myself smiling as well.

"You never cease to surprise me, Grell Sutcliff."

Had he ever spoken my full name before so directly? No, he couldn't have. He had said my name is light passing, but I would have remembered such an intentioned, lovely sound. Mmm, I could defiantly get used to that voice cooing me name. Calling it, crooning, saying it in fervor…

"I do not like to represent 'love' with an item as fickle as a pretty flower."

"What do you mean?" I inquired softly, my thoughts interrupted as I tilted my head back to eye him as my interest only peaked further.

"I like my rose buds a little more thorny. Something with a lasting impression." he chuckled in return, stroking a bony hand through my hair lightly. I simply raised a brow.

"Flowers wilt…" he continued, his lips pressed against my scalp. "Their colors fade. What was once romantic and radiant becomes dull. That which is so easily given is not worth one's while. Flowers of this kind are more suited for graves than courters, for they are only indicative to lovers of a fickle taste."

He began to pluck petals from the most blossomed of roses in the center of the bouquet, gathering them in his palm and then letting them slip from his fingers, trickling like bloody beads off the end of an ever voracious blade. He smiled down at me again, the corners of his mouth almost splitting in glee.

I briskly withdrew from him then, turning on my heel roughly and held the flowers out to him in response; I didn't want them now. I knew if I opened my mouth, I would start screaming and I was uncertain if I would stop.

How dare he mock me in such a fashion? I am no easy woman! I am Grell Sutcliff! I am a lady of class and standards! Simply because I am forward with my feelings did not mean I was to be regarded with such casual, petty intentions. Oh no, the Undertaker was a handsome thing, but I had decided then and there that I was no longer to be anyone's doormat; not to any boss, any butler, any blood lusting lady killer, and certainly not to this old loon!

"Grell?" He questioned, his smile fading slightly as he looked up at me from the offering.

"Take them back." I growled. "I certainly don't want such rubbish. If you are so certain I am so easily swayed, mortician, you are sorely mistaken."

He was quiet. Studying me. But he did not take the flowers, and this was so maddening that I threw the bouquet to his heeled boots, petals ripping and stems splitting against the impact of the earth. How quickly the tables had turned on my own game. He had no feelings for me, I was a play thing! A toy! How foolish was I to muse that this man held true emotions for anything, let alone anyone? Let alone someone like me?

I may have been angrier with myself than him, but it didn't really matter.

"Did you really think you should say such things to me, and I would take it lightly? You're insinuating that I'm loose, that I'm willing to give my body and my affections to anyone who simply asks! " I snarled. "Is that all I am to you? A source of unbridled folly? Is that all I am to anybody? Is everyone's opinion of me so low?"

Oh no, this is what I had feared. The flow had started, and now it wasn't going to stop.

"I am not cheap! I am not incompetent! And damn it all, I will never speak of love again if this is all that can be considered of me!"

_Stop it Grell, stop it! He doesn't care, you sound like a fool-!_

"Do you know what William said to me when I was on trial for Jack the Ripper? That I was a hypocrite. That I had condemned those woman for being prostitutes, when I myself acted as a common whore, and that nobody would take me seriously."

I paused for a moment, closing my eyes tightly as I felt the knife twist in my chest at the memory. I still could not believe that William had fully meant what he had said, but he had never been one to mince words.

Even so, it did not lessen the pain.

"I didn't kill those women for giving away their bodies. I killed them for disrespecting life. For discarding the thing that the late Madam and myself could never bare, and would give anything for! We destroyed them for taking granted the value of living! And when I tried to tell William this, he told me I was disgusting. That I was insane to think I had the right to make such judgments. But what right does he have to tell me I'm wrong?"

I couldn't stop.

"I'm sick of being the person who gets stepped on simply because I'm comfortable expressing myself! Because I'm a lady in a world of filthy vermin who only care to mock what they don't know, what they don't understand! They laugh and sneer and taunt and jibe, and they don't know the first thing about who I am or what I'm capable of! I am the same Shinigami they attended the academy with, the same one who sat with them in their desks and in their dormitories! I learned to reap and judge souls amongst the rest of them!"

Undertaker stared back at me, his eyes attentive and seemingly unaffected. I kept screaming; I didn't care who heard me now.

"So why am I so ridiculed? Discarded and struck down, hair twisted and face smacked and socially scathed? Because I don't let fear hold me back? Because I speak my mind and express my contempt for those who don't appreciate life and beauty? Does this make me a total lunatic?" I was breathing hard and ragged now, hair falling in front of my face. I made no move to move the strands of crimson, for my vision was going red with or without the distraction.

"Do they think that I don't know? That I don't hear what the other Shinigami say about me, or that I really feel nothing in response to their unfounded slander? I know I have faults! I know that I'm brash, impulsive! But does that really make me so terrible that everyone must constantly throw it in my face? To turn the other cheek when I walk by and whisper, 'There he-she-it-_that thing_ is; there's the department's designated fuck up'." I snarled, lowering my eyes dangerously. Tears were stinging behind my eyes now, tears I most certainly did not want him to see.

"I am capable of love. I am capable of feeling, really, truly feeling. Just because I have infatuations that I willingly express—just because I'm not a cookie cutter reaper—That doesn't mean—that most certainly doesn't mean I'm so worthless—that I—"

I was saying all these things, and yet, Undertaker looked entirely unfazed. It wasn't like he could have been expecting this. Why wasn't he responding? Why wouldn't he say something, or hit me, or anything? Anything! I just needed to know he was hearing me!

Before I had completely contemplated doing so, I felt the sting of my bare hand against the Undertaker's cheek, my varnished red nails drawing rivulets of blood in streaks across his face.

Oh no… what had I done now? I was going to drive away one of the very few people who actually seemed to enjoy my company. Even if I was only something he enjoyed to tamper with… anything was better than solitude. And heavens knew that if any of my superiors where to found out that I had struck the Undertaker again…

It was then that I realized he was laughing. Laughing! Crowing about wildly like the maniac he was! (-why had I even thought for a moment that he would react any other way was beyond me.) And with every deep breath he took and his increasing volume between each squawk, my rage began to boil again. Any remorse I felt quickly dissipated as I raised a hand to strike him again.

I had barely begun to let my arm approach it's target before his hand grabbed my wrist, shockingly strong and tight; tighter than he had ever held me before. His eye's met mine for a split second before he drew me in close, and I felt a pair of soft, slender lips pressed against my own. I couldn't remember the last time someone had kissed me like that, if ever at all.

Is this what it felt like to be desired? To be kissed with fire and scalded by the sinfully delicious touch?

Oh yes, _oh yes_- waitwaitwait!

No!

I was angry! I was furious! I was-

"M'lady, I've made a grave mistake." the madman murmured in my ear, fearlessly pressing me closer to him despite his lecherous pun, his other arm having found it's way around my waist again. He was surprisingly strong for someone with such a frail looking body. Then again, I had to consider he was a Shinigami legend. My, those robes of his were easily misleading…

"You certainly have." I replied tersely, attempting to break free of his hold on me, baring my teeth at him in a feral manner. He had better think again if he thought I was against using them to my advantage. "And stop calling me 'm'lady'! I am most defiantly _not_ your lady! Who do you think you are? Let go of me right now! Let go-"

He was kissing me again in reply, and no more gently than the first time. He claimed my lips roughly, making his way down my neck in sharp, biting kisses. I could barely catch my breath as he did this, squirming in vain.

"Will you listen now?" he chuckled breathlessly against my collarbone as I gasped.

I simply growled in reply, knowing that putting up a fight would bring me no closer to my freedom, and it was not as if I really had anywhere to go. He wasted no time continuing, wise enough to know that I would not be agreeable for long.

"Grell, my dear, those are all the things I absolutely adore about you-"

"Beg pardon?" I barked, cutting him off, which promptly brought his lips to mine for a third time. Why did he keep doing that?

I didn't know if I absolutely loved or entirely hated this.

"Shh, if you please. What I mean to say is… I did not compare the roses to love because I do regard you so highly. I brought you those flowers as a token of comfort, as I believed they were something you would enjoy. I know that you value life, and therefore it is people like you that see the beauty in things that are so fleeting and hold them ever so dearly. I was not saying you are fickle… I was saying you are all that is eternally beautiful, both in acknowledgment of its form and in practice."

His voice was growing softer each word that passed his lips. I was no longer struggling, and was going limp in his grasp, both from exhaustion and feeling mesmerized by what I was hearing.

"I love your rambunctious nature, your harsh criticism, your dedication to your art and your belief in beauty being the equivalent of all that is truth. I am continuously amazed by your strength, and the will you have to take matters into your own hands, even when you know it's going to cause a fuss. A little bit of trouble makes for a healthy amount of worry, but you throw caution to the wind as well. You let your red hot spirit lead the way, the intuition of your soul… a skill lost to most reapers today, as they've been reduced to handbooks and the need to uniform themselves. There is no defined mold for a reaper, and as much as William would like to impose that belief upon you by all means necessary, as every soul is different, so should each reaper be to best accommodate the needs of the individual."

Was he really telling me I was a good reaper? That I was well suited for my job? Exceptional, even? That what I did… was truly an art, as I had always considered it to be?

His lips had found their way to my neck, tracing up and down the flesh in fleeting kisses, covering every inch of the left side before moving to the right as he continued.

"I adore the passion you have for what you do. And some days, I'm almost envious that I have given up reaping. But to see you smiling brightens this scarred old soul, in a way I haven't felt for what seems like centuries. I can't get enough of you, so full of enthusiasm and reckless abandon. What I enjoy most is your laughter; that smile of yours is a captivating thing. I know your teeth put off most people, but I love them. The real danger you are is portrayed in your grin, straightforward, like the rest of you. It was only when I realized that your smile was not always honest that I was displeased. You are quite the actress, Grell… but you cannot fool me. As time has passed, I've watched you… I've seen a spiral down into a state of despair almost, and I simply can not stand by and watch that light of yours diminish."

He stood back now, with what seemed like a bit of difficulty. I could tell he still wanted to be close, but I suppose he needed to know that I was alright with this, that I was hearing what he was saying and comprehending.

"What you have is so rare…. and that is why I offer the deepest of apologies, m'la-" he stopped himself. "-Grell."

I didn't know what to say, how to react. I felt so numb all over, was I even breathing? Well, it wasn't exactly necessary to breathe, though it was a bit of a natural habit for most Shinigami nonetheless.

"No, I... I'm sorry. I take back what I said." I replied weakly, my throat dry, voice coming out hoarse. I put a hand to his cheek gently, the cuts I had caused having quickly begun to heal, though the marks were still entirely present.

A silence followed my words, a silence I needed to fill. I didn't know if I was forgiven so easily, but I hoped he would accept my small apology.

There were so many things I wanted to say, so many things I needed to get off my chest, so many questions I wanted to ask. He was listening to me, and understood, and that meant he cared, at least a little.

I could have covered pages and pages of books til they filled the shelves and littered the floors of the Shinigami library of how lovely I felt, and how deeply I was grateful to hear such things. They were sincere, weren't they? They surely seemed so.

Oh Undertaker, please, tell me you really are crazy enough to handle a lady like myself…

And despite all the blessed, wonderful feelings I could have expressed, I stupidly asked the first thing that came to my emotionally fogged mind.

"How did you even know I was going to be here?" I managed to whisper, afraid of still sounding like I was about to break down again.

Undertaker seemed to accept that I was not exactly in any state to continue talking about all that had just been passed between the two of us, and contemplated the question for a moment before smiling at me knowingly. He kissed the one tear that had managed to escape as it slipped down my rosy cheek, leaving a long red streak in it's wake.

"Now _that_, my dear… is a question that requires a bit of payment."

xXx

_B'awww Grelllllll.  
Ohohoho~ I do wonder what Undertaker is implying. -smirk-_

_Anyways, I will be attending Zenkaicon as Grell/BloodyButler!Grell and possssssibly ShinigamiAcademy!Grell on March 18th, 19th and 20th. If any of you are going to be there, give me a shout! I'd love to meet up with any fellow FanFic-goers!  
_


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